The Other One
by sparkles321
Summary: What really happened to Sherrinford Holmes? Why don't the brothers visit home often? What is Mummy covering up? Why is Sherlock still traumatized by Redbeard' s death? -an attempt to answer the many questions in the Sherlock fandom-


The little Holmes group stood at the headstone, air silent with an ominous foreboding.

They never talked about Sherrinford - at least, Sherlock didn't. Mycroft had ventured his name a few times, almost timidly, but Sherlock would act as if he didn't hear.

The only person who still talked about it was Mummy, who seemed to feel guilty. She would call Mycroft up occasionally. "I just thought- working with the government and all - you might know _something..."_

Or, "Sherlock, you're a clever lad. Can't you figure out what happened?"

It was a terrible thing that had happened, so many years ago today.

The worst were these cemetery visits - every year on the anniversary, to the grave with the Union Jack flag flying over it.

They all had their own ways of grieving or coping, and Sherlock's was to order his mind palace to forget. It usually worked until the cemetery visits, when everything came flooding back.

* * *

Sherrinford had always been the older one, the one who was better at sports and getting the girls and attracting praise from adults.

If you'd asked the younger Holmes boys, they would denied any jealousy, but...

Sherrinford was tall and lean, like Sherlock, but the similarities stopped there. Sherrinford was deeply tanned and muscular. Every morning he would slide out of bed and do pushups - Thump! "one, two, three..."

Sometimes little Sherlock joined him, but most of the time his arms failed him after the first six. Mycroft would just roll over, dragging a blanket over his face until Mummy woke him for school.

Sherrinford liked to remind Sherlock that his name was a girl's name - and girl aliens at that. He also frequently quoted a story to Mycroft about magical bears that ate chubby little children.

Seeing that Sherrinford was eleven years Sherlock's senior and eight years older than Mycroft, these stories were generally accepted as truth.

Mycroft and Sherlock rarely got along but when they did, it was to join forces and hide Sherrinford's things or fling water balloons at him and his girlfriend.

Still, the Holmes brothers had their bouts of closeness, as all brothers do. Oftentimes they were left to themselves and Sherrinford would make clumsy attempts to cook for his little brothers or offer almost parental advice. He was the one who had persuaded their parents to get Sherlock Redbeard, after all.

Maybe that was why Sherlock had been so affected later in life by Redbeard's death. It had been the beginning of the end, really.

When Sherrinford was sixteen, he announced his intention of joining the Royal Marines.( **A/N In Britain, you can join at 16 but cannot serve outside of the UK in combat until you're 18)**

Mummy and Dad had a dreadful row, Dad wanting him to go at 18, Mummy wanting to let him go now if he wanted.

At 18 Sherrinford went off to basic training. Mummy Holmes treated it as if it really wasn't that big of an occasion - Britain was not involved in any conflicts, and everything seemed quite safe.

But then came the Falklands War, the Falklands conflict - whatever you want to call it. Political correctness has never been Sherlock's strong suit.

And Mummy and Daddy grew more and more distant. They weren't bad parents, they just threw themselves so into their work that there was no time left to be a mum or dad.

They gave the boys everything money could buy, and tried to spend time when they could, but it felt hurried and fake.

Sherrinford had somehow gotten into the SAS by the time he was 20, and was running some sort of covert missions. He barely called home, or wrote.

* * *

The telephone line had been horrendously crackly, and Sherrinford's voice had sounded tinny and far away when he called and asked to talk to Sherlock. Feeling very important, little Sherlock stood on a chair and grabbed the enormous receiver.

"Hullo, Lockie!"

"Hi, Sherrinford ," he said, so glad to hear his brother's voice he could've been called Shirley willingly.

"How's Redbeard?" (Mummy tapped her foot impatiently. "He's using up his government minutes for this?" She and Daddy left the kitchen.)

"He's great! I'm gonna teach him to climb the stairs. Listen, I found Daddy's missing wallet!"

"Did you now? Good lad. How're things on the homefront?"

"Mummy forgot my violin recital because she was researching something important."

Sherrinford's voice felt Sherlock's pain. "Oh. Sherlock, I'm sorry. I'd have been there - with earplugs, of course, but there. Hey, I don't have much time, we've got a big mission but I want to talk to both of you. Is My around?"

" MY-CRO-FT! He's coming. Well, bye, Sherrinford."

"Bye, Lockie. Take care of yourself, all righ' ?"

"Okay."

* * *

Looking back, it was as if Sherrinford had known something.

That night preparing for bed, Mycroft had plumped his pillow a few times and turned to Sherlock, who was mirroring the action in his bed.

"I don't like it."

"Like what," Sherlock muttered sleepily.

"Sherrinford calling like that."

"You don't like Sherrinford calling us?!"

"No, I mean calling us so abruptly. Suddenly , I mean."

"I know what abruptly means! You think something's wrong?"

"Yeah, it's as if he's saying goodbye." Mycroft, three years older, waited for nine year old Sherlock to piece things together.

"He already said goodbye, silly, when he left for training..."

"No,more permanent."

Realization dawned. "You mean dying, don't you?"

Before Mycroft could even nod, Sherlock glared at him. "Don't say it!"

"I'm just worried."

"Me too, My."

* * *

"Mr. Holmes? The headmaster wishes to see you."

Sherlock rose from his desk and traipsed down the ornate old hallways of his private school, wondering idly what he'd done.

When he arrived, he saw Mycroft on a bench too.

"My? You never get in trouble. Something's wrong."

"Excellent deduction," he said, spiritless.

Mummy came down the hall then, and My rose and ran to her.

 _Kiss-up,_ thought Sherlock automatically, before he realized the gravity of the situation.

Suddenly he felt as if he was standing aside, watching a movie. He saw rather than felt himself get up and move slowly towards her. The headmaster opened his door and they all shuffled in, headmaster pressing Mummy's hand and then talking to her quietly.

Bored, Sherlock decided to play his deduction game. He studied Mummy. Her mascara was smeared and she had bit the fingernails of her right hand. Her lab coat was rumpled and she looked harried.

His eyes met Mycroft's but then Mummy spoke.

"Let's go home, shall we?"

When they were seated on the cozy sofa by the fire, Mummy looked at them tenderly, resting her hands on theirs. She hardly ever did that.

"Boys, I have some bad news," Mummy began in a quivering voice. "It's Sherrinford."

Mycroft covered his mouth with his hand.

Fear made Sherlock's voice hard and sharp. "What do you mean, 'it's Sherinford'? Is he hurt, sick, dying,de-?" His voice broke on the last word, and he could not bring himself to say 'dead'.

"Oh, love, he's been MIA, missing...he's gone."

Sherlock what she meant but he tried to pretend otherwise. Sherrinford was just lost, missing in action. He could find him! "Gone?"

"DEAD, Sherlock. Sherrinford is dead," Mycroft yelled, jumping up and running off with a noise like a wounded animal.

"I should go after him," Mummy whispered apologetically, climbing the stairs.

Sherlock sat very still and listened to the blood pounding in his ears.


End file.
